The Revolution Lives
by alinastarkou
Summary: When Arya volunteers to take Sansa's place in the 74th Hunger Games, she's thrown into a world beyond her imagining. But Arya's determination to survive at all costs hits an obstacle when she meets Gendry, the boy from her District who will have her questioning everything she knows. — arya-centric the hunger games au


The male tribute was selected first. A big, eighteen year old boy named Gendry, he took his place on the stage stoically. Arya knew him vaguely. It was said he was Robert Baratheon's secret son, and while no one had ever said anything to her, Arya knew her father sent him money every month. Despite the cold weather, Gendry's arms were bare, showing off his rippling muscles. If the boy was afraid, there was no sign of it on his face, if anything he seemed almost bored. Arya already knew he would be a favorite with the oddsmakers.

Next, the female tribute. _Be brave_, Arya scolded herself sternly, but she couldn't help but hold her breath as the Capitol escort's hand swirled around in the reaping bowl. In slow motion, Arya watched the escort select a slip of paper.

"_Sansa Stark_!"

Arya's heart completely stopped beating. It's not possible, she thought wildly. Robb had been reaped just three years ago, how could one family be so unlucky? This wasn't supposed to happen, her father was the Mayor, the Capitol was supposed to protect their family…

In the crowd, Arya spotted Sansa. She had frozen in place, her face as white as the summer snow that was drifting down lazily. Jeyne was clinging to her, her loud sobs the only sound in the silence that had fallen.

On the stage, her mother had fallen to her knees. Her father was staring blankly into the distance, his expression unfocused. What was he seeing as he stared at the crowd? Robb's reaping? Or her Aunt Lyanna's, twenty years ago? She had been sixteen, one year younger than Sansa, and seven months pregnant. The Capitol had brought back a baby boy, but Lyanna had died.

She thought of Sansa, singing to herself as she braided her hair. She thought of her mother, and how she hadn't left her room for three months after Robb died.

Arya began pushing her way through the crowd. "I volunteer! _I volunteer as tribute_!"

"Arya, no!" Someone was calling Arya's name but the noise in her ears was too loud for her to make it out clearly. Sansa, maybe. Or Jon. Arya's stomach lurched. She hadn't thought of Jon all this time. He would've lost his mother to the games, then his best friend, and now her. She forced the thought from her mind.

When Arya made it to the stage, Sansa was waiting for her. She grabbed her arm hard, nails digging in, and forced Arya to look her in the eyes. "You don't have to do this, Arya. They called my name, it's meant to be me…" Sansa's voice broke on the last word. She sounded small and weak and scared. Suddenly, she looked much younger than her seventeen years.

"Let go of me," Arya told her. Her voice came out colder than she intended. When Sansa wouldn't let go, she pushed past her. From the corner of her eye she saw Jeyne taking her aside and whispering in her ear. As she walked past her parents, her mother reached for her. Arya ducked her grasping hands and went to stand as far away from her parents as the stage would allow. For a second it looked like Catelyn might follow, but before she could, her father took her aside and began speaking to her. That was good, Arya didn't know how to face her mother right now.

The Capitol escort was eyeing her with greedy delight. "What an exciting turn of events!" he exclaimed. "What's your name, darling?"

Arya turned toward the audience. Everything looked hazy and she hoped her eyes weren't watering. "Arya," she said, and she felt proud when her voice came out loud and clear. "Arya Stark."

"Arya! The younger sister of our dearly departed Robb. Such a fearless young girl to be volunteering for your sister, and your _older_ sister, too, if I'm correct! How old are you, Arya, love?"

Arya's hands curled into fists at the mention of her brother but when she replied, her voice was flat. "I'm fourteen." The crowd broke out in whispers. She could feel Gendry staring at her. Arya was all too aware that only one fourteen year old had ever won the games.

There was a commotion at the side of the stage. Arya didn't need to look to see who it was. Jon, she thought, her heart sinking. He was struggling with several Peacekeepers. She stared straight ahead resolutely, knowing that if she turned to look, the sight of him would drive her to tears. Still, she could hear him shouting. "You can't do this! Arya! Let me through! Uncle! _Arya_!"

Uncle Benjen peeled himself away from where he had been standing at the edge of the crowd. He nodded at father. "Continue with the ceremony, I'll handle this." He and several Peacekeepers led Jon away.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. The anthem played, followed by a broadcast of a speech by President Aerys. Arya tried not to look at her mother. Finally, it came to an end and she and Gendry were whisked away to the Justice Building. Despite the fact that she was almost certainly going to die in the next few days, having to face her family was almost the part that Arya dreaded the most.

Sansa was first. She was shaking, and her eyes had turned red from crying, but she still looked as beautiful as ever. Her red hair, neatly tied up with a white ribbon, didn't have a single strand out of place. As soon as she was within reach, Sansa pulled her sister into a tight hug. Arya couldn't remember the last time her sister had embraced her like that.

Arya tried to pay attention as her sister talked, but it was hard to think straight. Her mind kept going blank, and the next thing she knew Sansa was talking about something completely different. Arya started when Sansa pressed something into her hand. "What's this?" she asked.

"My sewing needle," Sansa said. "I thought you could use it as your token."

"A needle?" Arya questioned, puzzled. "That could be used as a weapon, they'll never let me take it into the arena."

"I think they will. It's so small and I've had it for years. It's gone completely dull." Arya inspected the needle in her hand. It really _was_ small, not even the length of her pinky, and when Arya tested the tip against her index finger, it barely indented her skin. "I know you've never been a fan of sewing but this has always been something that comforted me and gave me good luck. I didn't have it with me the day that Robb… I don't know. It's probably useless. I just—"

Arya cut her off before she could continue babbling. "Thank you, Sansa. Really. I'll wear it."

Sansa beamed at her. "Oh, that's great! Here, give it to me..." Sansa pulled the white ribbon from her hair, her red locks falling in elegant waves around her face. Arya watched as she laced the ribbon through the hole at the end of the needle. Arya turned away and stared at the wall as Sansa tied the makeshift necklace around her neck. "You'll want to replace the ribbon with something sturdier when you get to the Capitol, Arya. This will work for now, though."

"There," Sansa said when she finished. She turned Arya around, inspecting her up and down. "Oh, Arya. Your hair's a mess." Sansa began combing her fingers through Arya's messy updo. After a few moments, Arya batted her hands away. Sansa stepped back, expression troubled, and for a moment Arya felt like she was about to say something, but at that moment a Peacekeeper stuck their head through the door. "Time's up!"

Sansa looked as if she might start crying again. Arya really hoped she wouldn't. She was pulled into another hug. "Jon wants to see you alone first, but everyone else will be here after him. Be brave, Arya. I love you." Before Arya had time to react, the Peacekeeper was taking her away.

The day had barely started and Arya already felt overwhelmed and emotionally drained. The prospect of seeing the rest of her family made her want to be sick. She needed a minute to recover from the intensity of what was happening but before she could catch her breath, Jon had entered the room.

"Little sister," Jon said, and despite her exhaustion, Arya couldn't help but smile. She and Jon weren't siblings, not _truly_, but they had been raised together since birth. To her relief, Jon didn't look upset anymore, just sad and tired. He ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead. "Now, why did you have to do that?"

"I had to," Arya frowned. "You know Sansa. She would never have made it."

"And who says _you_ will? Sansa is three years older than you, and more capable than you think."

"I'll be fine. I know what to do. Find a weapon. Stick people with the pointy end." Arya didn't feel as confident as she sounded, but she didn't want Jon to know that. "If Sansa is so capable, then she can take of everyone until I get back."

Jon sighed. "Arya…" He looked around furtively before leaning in close. Arya felt his breath warm her cheek. "Just hang on for as long as you can. We'll find a way to help you."

For some reason, that made Arya mad. All her anger, her fear, her resentment, came bubbling to the surface in a rush. She had volunteered for Sansa, hadn't she? Sacrificing her life for someone who had never even said she'd loved her before today. Now, Jon was treating her like she was some dumb kid, who needed to be lied to about what was going to happen. How could _he_ help her? Arya understood perfectly well what was about to happen! She was fourteen, not a baby like Rickon! Rickon hadn't understood what was happening to Robb even as they watched it unfold. For months afterward, he had asked where Robb was, when he was coming home…

Arya sprang to her feet. "I have to go," she said abruptly. Shouts rang out after her as she took off but Arya ignored them. She knew she would regret this later but still she kept running. Out of the room, the Justice Building, and all the way to where the train that would take her to the Capitol waited. Arya had always been a fast runner. Once she got up to full speed, no one could catch her. By the time she reached the train she was out of breath, but at least no one had followed her.

Gendry was already waiting in the train when she got there, and so was fat, old Robert Baratheon, District 12's mentor. He hadn't been at the ceremony this morning but at least he had made it to the train, Arya thought bitterly. Robert was actually the same age as her father, but it was hard to believe it. He was passed out drunk on one of the seats, snoring loudly.

The train was huge, filled with row after row of empty rooms that could easily fit hundreds, though the only people who ever used it were the tributes and their mentors. Arya found a random room and hid inside. People came to her door, calling her name, begging, cajoling, then yelling. "Go away!" she shouted back at them. Finally they did and Arya felt the train smoothly come to a start. Alone at last, Arya fell into a deep sleep.


End file.
